The First Taste(108)

“Tonight,” he says, inching forward until I’ve retreated into the hall. “Now. We’ll work this out now so we can be together tonight. Do you know how long it’s been since I slept? Really slept?”

My stomach flips. I will never, ever sleep in the same bed as him. Nor will I let him near my body after the way he abused his power in the past. “I promise we can talk tomorrow,” I lie. I turn for the front door, but he grabs my wrist.

“Reggie, please—”

He pulls me the opposite direction. Instinctively, I try to wrench free, twisting until my skin burns. When I realize he’s heading toward the bedroom, I panic. “I don’t want this,” I say. “Let me go. I don’t want you.”

He turns on me, grabbing my other forearm. “You’ll f*ck some piece-of-shit mechanic from Jersey and not your own husband? Are you some kind of whore?”

My chest stutters with shortened breaths. “No. I—this isn’t about him.”

“You’re right. It’s about you and me.”

“There is no you and me,” I say, needing to make myself as clear as possible. “Now let me go. You know I don’t like to be restrained.”

“I’ll let you go,” he says, but continues clutching me, “once you tell me how sorry you are for putting us through this. Once you prove your love for me. I’ll hold you here all night if I have to.”





THIRTY


Reggie kicks two club chairs together in the living room, keeping me bound by his hands, and orders me to sit in the one facing him. To an outsider, we’d look like lovers unable to let go of each other even in the comfort of our home.

I’m sweating. My wrists throb from his grasp. Reggie knows I don’t like to be restrained. I’ve told him several times.

“You don’t really want to be with him,” he says. “You’re just trying to get back at me. You’ve succeeded. What’ll it take to get you to call off this divorce?”

“I told you, this is not about him. It’s about us.” I glance around. The apartment is smaller. The walls are definitely closing in. I pull on my hands, but even when he wasn’t in shape and I’d been working out regularly, Reggie was stronger than me.

“What’s wrong, muffin?” he asks. “You afraid of your own husband?”

“You know I don’t like to be held like this.”

“Because it reminds you you’re weak. Alone. Out of control. You talk a big game, but you’re just as weak as any other woman. Virginia was the same—that’s why she hopped into bed with me first chance she got. I barely had to smile in her direction.”

I close my eyes, tune Reggie out, and grasp for the strength I need. It’s Andrew I see, looking down on me in the hotel room after he’d removed my blindfold.

“I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m holding you. I care about you, and I want you to be strong. You can be in control like this, but not if you’re afraid.”

Strong. I am stronger than Reggie, maybe not physically, but mentally. Emotionally. I know his weaknesses better than he does. I will the tension out of my body. At first, it doesn’t budge. I breathe in slowly through my nose and exhale, the way Andrew coached me.

“You’re still my wife,” Reggie says. I sense him closer, his warm, alcohol-tinted breath near my face. “I know you still want me. I see it in your face. You get this look when you’re turned on.”

Panic flares in me again, but I breathe through it and hold onto the image of Andrew and his poise as he held me. I’m not aroused—I’m scared. That’s what Reggie sees, what he wants to see. Terror. The stiffness in my arms begins to ease. I open my eyes. “I’m not turned on,” I say. “I want you to let go of me.”

He stands, pulling me up with him. “You don’t know what you want,” he says softly, sliding his thumb over the pulse of one wrist. “I do, though—I always have.”

“I’m telling you what I want. You have to respect that.”

He drops his forehead to mine, but as much as I’d like to, I don’t jerk away. “Give me a chance to remind you how good we are,” he says, looking down the front of my robe. “Come on, babe.”

My heart hammers against my chest, but I keep my expression calm. This is what my therapist and I have gone over and over. “I said no, Reggie.” I swallow. “If you push me until I have no choice but to give in, that’s rape.”

He reels back, his eyes popping open. “Rape? What the . . . are you crazy?”

“No.”

“We’re married. We’ve had sex a thousand times.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “If I don’t want it and you bully me into it anyway, that’s force, and I won’t stay quiet. How will that look for your reputation? Your ‘new venture’?” My shoulders are back to where they should be, my breathing evening out, and though my nerves buzz, I find strength in my own words. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid—”

“Yes, you do. You like me insecure and weak. That way, you can coerce me into anything and make me believe it’s what I want.”

“You’re talking crazy, Amelia. Frankly, I thought we were finally getting somewhere, but what you’re saying concerns me.”